


Baby, it's Snowstormin' Outside

by AmarieMelody



Series: The WinterFalcon Marriage Chronicles [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (Post) holiday fic, Bottom!Sam, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Married Couple, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Sam rides Bucky, SamBucky married fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmarieMelody/pseuds/AmarieMelody
Summary: “...Samuel Thomas Wilson, y’see this last bit of wood I gotta chop?” “Did you hear what I said?” “Do you see this wood?” “Did I say what I said?” “Do you see this wood?!” “Did I say what I said?!” More Winterfalcon domesticity, more humor, and more gratuitous smut at the end!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainafroelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainafroelf/gifts).



> This is a holiday gift for Kendra! [Her](http://afro-elf.tumblr.com/post/150713913272/i-feel-like-power-outagesblackouts-arent) [prompt](http://afro-elf.tumblr.com/post/150715205737/amariemelody-yes-smut-and-winter-weather-is) was basically SamBucky/Winterfalcon power outages because of a storm, smut, a fireplace, and more smut, teeheeee!! 
> 
> Kendra dear, hope you enjoy! 
> 
> And happy holidays to all of you, as well! May you all be warm, safe, and sound. And may this fic bring even more laughter and smiles to your faces! :D

The snowstorm watch is announced just two weeks after the holidays. 

Sam and Bucky are lounging flush against each other on the couch, warm and heavy and lazy with bellies full of eggnog-straight-out-the-carton and crumbly snickerdoodles. They watch as the meteorologist warns that the snowstorm watch is highly likely to turn into a legitimate snowstorm warning within thirty-six hours. Everyone should expect freezing temperatures. A minimum of six inches of snow. Flights and other commutes likely to be delayed or outright canceled. 

And power outages. 

The meteorologist then cuts back to the other reporters, who cite helpful, in-depth websites on how to stay warm and safe during snowstorms and a list of places to go for those who have no readily-available shelter. 

And then the segment cuts to break and Sam and Bucky are still lying in their exact same spots on the couch. They blink sleepily, blearily at the TV screen as a mundane commercial for an overpriced, clunky egg beater plays. 

Sam swirls the carton of eggnog around and then takes a few gulps. He wipes his mouth on the back of his pajama sleeve. As he passes the carton to his husband, he slouches further against him. “Welp. We got a big ol’ storm comin’, and my ass is moving no damn where.” 

“See, that’s funny, ‘cause I was gonna say the _exact_ same fuckin’ thing”, Bucky remarks. He puts the carton’s spout to his lips and chugs a good two to three gulps down. A few streams of eggnog miss his mouth and trickle down his chin and to his pajamas and, like his husband, he simply wipes at the mess with his sleeve. 

Sam stuffs an entire snickerdoodle in his mouth and crunches loudly. 

Bucky lets out a bellowing, hearty burp. 

It’s been a lazy, lazy day for them-hell, it’s been a lazy, lazy week for them overall. Maybe it’s the legendary “post-holiday blues” getting to them. Or it could be that, even weeks later, they can still feel the turkey from the Avengers holiday party settling deep in their stomachs. God knows that damn bird was probably the biggest they’ve ever seen on a literal silver platter. 

The commercials finally end to show more of the news, which is just live broadcasting updates on the approaching snowstorm. The updates include reports of people already preparing to buckle down or preparing to evacuate; what businesses will extend their hours just a bit so that people can complete their safety/survival kits; and what businesses will be closing their doors early-

“Hey. Hey, you. Hey, husband”, Bucky drawls.

Sam looks at him. “Hmm?” 

Bucky squints at his husband. “You…you’re gonna need some heat. Good, sustainable heat, Wilson. And we don’t have much wood for the fireplace right now…” 

“I don’t need the fireplace lit”, Sam snorts. He snuggles so close that he all but sits in Bucky’s lap. “I already got you. So jus’ do your husbandly duty by existing, got it?” 

“…But what if I gotta get up to take a piss?” 

“Then I’ll just roll over and take your warm spot.” 

“Wilson.” 

“Barnes?” 

“My warm spot and I have a close, loving relationship; my warm spot is what saves me as I slough through my marital days with you. So that ain’t gonna work.”

Sam is about to retort when a thought occurs to him. “Oh, hey. _You_ …you’ll need a lotta food if we’re lookin’ at being snowed in for the next few days. I mean, we got enough food _now_ as is, but you’ll need a whole stock to last since we won’t be able to access the grocery, hon.” 

Bucky wrinkles his nose petulantly. “But babe, I don’ wanna-”

“Buck, your metabolism is four times that of a regular person and I think we should take that into consideration. We gotta hit the market for food.”

“…If we gotta hit the market-the _crowded as fuck market_ -for food, then that also means we gotta hit it for whole bulks of wood.” 

Sam sighs. 

Bucky sighs, too. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Sam’s and laments, “…If we didn’ love each other so freakin’ much, we could just sit our asses right here, right now and not have to _move_. Just be lazy all day and all night. But we’re married an’ gotta take care of each other. This is _such_ an inconvenience. I didn’t exactly sign up for this bullshit when I said ‘I do’.” 

Sam closes his eyes and can’t help the lazy, affectionate smile that curves his lips. He snuggles his head against Bucky’s. “Well, it’s not 1931 anymore, Barnes. You _can_ divorce me if you don’t wanna take care of each other anymore. Jus’ letting you know.” 

“Shut up, Wilson. I’ll divorce you when I’m good and ready and not a day too late-trust and believe in that.” 

“Hmm”, Sam snorts. “Been a few years, so I _think_ ‘a day too late’ has already done went and passed. But just look at me with my big, warm, compassionate heart that I ain’t even gonna say nothing about it. Wouldja just look at that?” 

That same lazy, affectionate smile curves Bucky’s lips. “Uh-huh. Sure.” 

“Sure.” 

“Mmm-hmm.” 

“ _Mmm_ -hmm.” Sam sighs again and pulls slightly away from his husband. “Well, baby. I think in order for this to work, we’ll first have to actually move off the couch. Might be the best choice, huh?”

Bucky pouts. “…Alright. I’ll get up on the count of three? Count to three for me, hon?” 

Sam smiles and plants a quick peck on his lips, and then gets up. “Four.” 

And Bucky is still sitting there, dumbfounded and his lips tingling from his husband’s kiss. 

-

Sam and Bucky are two grown-ass, able-bodied men that can and do dress themselves just fine. They can and do make themselves presentable as upright, hygienic humans for going out in public. But for whatever innocuous reason, when it comes to donning winter gear, they delight in dressing each other. 

It probably has something to do with taking pleasure in making sure that the other is as warm and safe and snug as possible. Something like that. 

They’re quick and efficient even as they have fun. Bucky gently tugs Sam’s favorite thick purple wool cap over his head so that it’s covering his ears. It’s Bucky’s favorite wool cap of Sam’s, too; he fondly remembers when he spent an entire summer painstakingly sewing a silk covering over the inside, conscious of how wool can dry Sam’s hair out while silk and other smooth materials preserve the precious oils and moisture in it.

Sam tenderly pulls down the sleeves of the two layers of undershirt and one layer of sweater over the length of Bucky’s metal arm. He takes extra care to make sure that all three layers are smooth and even instead of bunching over each other. When he’s satisfied, he pulls Bucky’s leather glove over his metal hand and carefully tucks the end of the glove under the layers. Sam loves doing it because he remembers way, way back when they were first falling in love and they would do this and he’d worry that Bucky’s metal arm would catch snarls in its plates from the sweater. But Bucky always assured him that that’s not a problem but, if he’s really worried, Bucky doesn’t at all mind layering a shirt or two under the sweater to put Sam’s mind at ease. And nowadays, Sam always does Bucky’s flesh arm and hand the exact same way. 

Scarves and socks and boots and leg warmers go on next. They still laugh and smile the whole time they finish dressing each other. 

And just before they grab the keys and wobble out to their shared compact SUV in the snowy winter wonder-fuck-land, they share a sweet, sweet kiss bubbling with laughter. 

Married life is still good to them. 

-

“I swear to _god_ if _one more person_ cuts me off and steals yet another parking spot-” Bucky growls. 

Sam rubs at his forehead. “Honey-” 

“-I am going to say fuck it and-”

“-I know-”

“-park _on top_ of a motherfucker. I swear this on my life.” 

“-but, sweetie, we can’t just go and park on top of someone else”, Sam warns. 

Bucky grips the steering wheel so tight that he just may snap it. He glances over at his husband as he circles their shared compact SUV around supermarket parking lot for the sixth time. The sixth time. “And why not?” 

Sam winces. “Well, three reasons.” 

Bucky is cut off again. His left eye twitches. “…I’m listening.” 

“First, our insurance couldn’t cover it. Or it could, but you’re gonna make our premium skyrocket through the roof.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, but does your husband not have such good money from military back pay? So much good money that he, combined with your money, can more than cover-”

“But the _point_ is that I very much like our premium right. Where. It. Is. And so”, Sam says. “I want it to stay right. Where. It. Is. And so _that_ means it’s gon’ stay right. Where. It. Is.”

Bucky sighs resignedly as he hangs a left to just park on the outer ledge of the parking lot. Several other people have taken to doing this and so he gets ready to parallel park. “Alright. Then reason number two…?” 

“You’re a super soldier and you could handle it, but you’d probably get my unenhanced ass killed”, Sam explains. “Or at least, you’d put me in a cast or two for the next six months.” 

“Ehh, okay”, Bucky says as he cuts the wheel and backs up. “Yeah, I think that’d put a damper on my day. Sure. Third reason?” 

“Well…we _are_ superheroes and superheroes do a lot of things, but parking on top of people is not one a’them.” 

Bucky smoothly backs them into the makeshift parking space and gives a laugh that’s devoid of humor. “No, _you_ are a superhero. I’m just a former assassin that’s-”

“ _Hey!_ ” Sam barks. 

“Okay, okay, okay. ‘M sorry”, Bucky shakily sighs. He cuts the engine, leans back against his seat, and closes his eyes. 

Sam’s dark brown eyes are fiery and intense with compassion. He puts his gloved hand in his husband’s and squeezes. “You stop that. You stop that shit right now. Don’t even _start_ that today or any other fucking day, you hear me?” 

Bucky can’t open his eyes, but he nods fervently against the seat. He squeezes Sam’s hand back with as much strength as he dares. “Yes. Yes, I hear you. I-I’m sorry, I’m just…today’s a hassle today. Kinda stressful. It just came out.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But we’ll just be in and out and it’ll be over before you know it”, Sam comforts. His eyes simmer down and he rubs soothing circles over Bucky’s gloved knuckles. He wishes he could outright hug Bucky from this position. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. So _I’m_ sorry.” 

“No, no, baby!” Bucky laughs and this time, it’s a laugh with humor. He opens his eyes and looks at his husband. “That actually helped me snap out of it. Short of a rubber band, that’s just what I needed.”

“Well, I still don’t wanna snap on you like that ‘cause…I’m kinda stressed out here, too, and that shouldn’t come out in any way towards you. So again, I’m sorry. 

“Thanks, babe.” 

“Sure, hon.” 

“I love you.” 

Sam blinks and then grins wide and warm and bright. “I love you, too. So much.” 

Bucky gives the same grin back. “So…guess we were going grocery shopping, yeah?”

“Yep! Ready to weather this jungle?” 

“…You ain’t funny, Wilson.” 

“Neither are you, but at least I have the tact to pretend to laugh.” 

Sam and Bucky actually do laugh as they climb out of the SUV and head into what is indeed a jungle that must be weathered. From the walk through the parking lot, into the inside of the front doors where they actually have to wait to get a cart, and inside the supermarket, there’s not a single stretch that’s not loud and crowded. People rush to and fro in the store, snatching up groceries and supplies as fast as they can to beat the approaching snowstorm. 

They stay close together as they navigate the din. Sam in particular does his best to never be out of his husband’s reach for warm, reassuring contact. What with the PSTD that they both suffer from, large, loud crowds of people aren’t exactly ideal; it’s why they love and prefer to grocery shop during the early mornings of weekdays. Sam usually has better luck in dealing with such huge crowds than Bucky; Sam minds not one bit being in near constant physical contact with Bucky to stave off his mounting worry and anxiety. 

The tight, close orbit they keep with each other makes it much, much easier than either of them thought. Bucky finds it easy to concentrate on inspecting granny smith apples with one hand so long as his other one is clutching Sam’s hand. In turn, Sam finds it easier to pick out a good bag of cranberries as he feels his husband’s hand in his. 

It’s when they’re weathering the deli section that their phones start blowing up. Sam’s blows up first; with his free hand, he answers it to his mother’s frantic voice on the other line. 

“Hey, Mama!” 

“Sam, baby, you an’ Bucky alrigh’?” She worriedly asks. “Y’need anything? Anything at all?” 

“Naw, Mama, we’re good. Real good-”

“Wait, the hell is all that noise and commotion, then? W-what are ya’ll doing out an’ about and there’s a snowstorm comin’?!” 

“We’re just-”

“Samuel Thomas Wilson, why the hell aren’t you two safe inside?!” 

Bucky raises his head from perusing the ham, turkey, and cheese selections with a wince. He silently holds his free hand out in offer of help. But Sam shakes his head with an apologetic smile and cradles his phone closer to his ear. 

“Mama, we’re only gettin’ groceries and other essentials. We’re not gonna be-”

“Lemme get this straight, Samuel Thomas. Can I have a moment to get this straight?” She asks in a deadly calm voice. 

Bucky swallows nervously as he flags down one of the deli workers. He steals a worried glance at his husband before asking the nice, but harried deli worker for their preferred cuts of ham, turkey, and cheese. Sam gives him yet another apologetic smile. 

“Yes, ma’am”, Sam sighs. “You can have that moment to get this straight.” 

“…The news already done administered a snowstorm watch for your area”, she elaborates. “And you’re _just_ now getting stocked up for it?!” 

Sam lets out a harsh sigh through his nose. “But Mama, that’s it: the news _just_ gave us that warning earlier this morning and everyone else is out here-”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man! Don’t think you can go an’ get fresh just ‘cause you’re on the other side of a phone!” 

He immediately tempers his voice. “Mama, I only-”

“Are you tryna give me a heart attack?! You could get snowed in and stranded inside a _grocery store right there, right now_! And I can’t get to you ‘cause all of the airports could be shut down. Then what?!” 

“No, no, it’s not like that! It really isn’t”, Sam reassures his mother. “It’s snowin’ just a little heavier than a few days ago, but it’s nowhere near being something we have to slug through just yet. We managed to drive up here to the grocery store just fine and after we get wood, we’ll be-”

“Just put my son-in-law on the phone. Please an’ thank you very much.” 

Sam sighs to the high heavens as he passes the phone to Bucky who in turn smiles apologetically at him as puts the phone to his ear. 

“Hey, Mama!” Bucky greets. 

“Bucky, my baby boy!” His mother-in-law chirps. “How y’doin’, sweetheart?” 

“Oh, ‘M alright”, Bucky laughs. He smiles at and mouths ‘thank you’ to the deli worker as he takes their purchases. He then stays close and follows Sam, whose pushing the cart into the bread and produce section. “I’m always at my best when I’m with the son that you kindly let me marry.” 

Sam brings the cart to a stop and fully turns around just to shake his head and roll his eyes in disgust at his husband. 

Bucky only winks and makes a kissy face back at him. 

But if Darlene suspected anything over the phone, she gives no signs. If anything, she laughs at Bucky’s declaration. “Oh, you sweetie baby, you! Why, letting you marry my Sammy was one of the best things I ever done!” 

“Y’know, Sammy _is_ a true treasure if ever there was one”, Bucky heartily agrees. His eyes are mischievous as he looks at Sam’s back. 

At the sound of his childhood nickname tauntingly coming out of his husband’s mouth, Sam once again brings the cart to a stop and fully turns around to face the other man. This time, Sam glares and slowly mouths, _‘I. Hate. You.’_

Bucky just gives him yet another wink and a kissy face. 

Darlene once again appears not to suspect anything. She replies, “That’s right, Bucky. That’s right. And y’know…oftentimes a mother’s treasure won’t tell her the truth about their well-being. So I need you to confirm or deny what my son is saying: is he _really_ being safe out there with you? Are ya’ll _really_ not in danger of being snowed inside a grocery store?” 

“Mama, I _promise_ you that everything Sammy’s-”

Sam turns around to flip him off with his eyes. 

His _eyes_. 

Another wink. Another kissy face. 

“-told you is absolutely, one-thousand-percent true. Plus, ‘M right here with him and you know that means that nothing will happen to him. Promise you.” 

Darlene’s sigh of relief crackling over the line goes straight to Bucky’s heart. “Oh, thank you, honey. Thank you so much for taking such good care of both yourself and Sam.” 

“No, no, it’s my pleasure!” 

“And you’ll both make sure to head _straight on home_ once you’re done with your errands?” 

“We’ll make sure!” 

“And you’ll call me as _soon as_ both of your behinds are on the other side of your door?”

“We’ll call you!” 

“Yeah, I done said ‘call’, Bucky. Not ‘text’”, she cautions. “You understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am! I hear you loud and clear!” Bucky assures her as he helps Sam pick out some flax bread and wheat bread.

“Then I’ll let ya’ll go and wait for your call when you get home, alright’?” She says. 

“Alright!” 

“I love you two!” 

“We love you, too, Mama!” 

Bucky hangs up and stuffs the phone back in the right pocket of Sam’s parka. He next wraps Sam up in a bear hug from behind. 

Sam doesn’t look up from glaringly perusing different brands of flax bread. “You’re terrible. Just flat-out terrible. Y’know that, right?” 

“I’m ‘terrible’ in how much I love you. I know that much, Wilson”, Bucky says with a squeeze. 

“…You’re still a corny ass guy. Such a corny, corny ass guy if there ever was one.” 

“But ‘M _your_ corny ass guy, right?” 

Sam finally turns around in Bucky’s arms to return the hug tenfold. “Unfortunately. 

-

When they’re just in the crowded cereal aisle, Bucky’s phone is the next to blow up. 

He rolls his eyes at the caller ID and answers it. 

He’s unsurprised at Natasha’s greeting. 

“So there’s a monster snowstorm headed to your area”, she says. “Are you taking good care of my best friend, Barnes?” 

“Well, happy fuckin’ post-holidays to you, too, Romanoff”, Bucky deadpans. 

Sam glances at his husband as he puts family-sized boxes of Cap’n Crunch, Cheerios, Froot Loops, and Kix in their cart. He smiles and quietly offers to take the phone. Bucky smiles back at him and shakes his head. 

Natasha deadpans back, “Barnes.” 

“What?” Bucky demands as he carefully, closely follows Sam down the crowded aisle. Their cart nearly collides with another more than once. “Rogers ain’t anywhere near here, Romanoff. He’s-”

“Wilson”, Natasha growls. “I meant Wilson. As in ‘Sam Wilson’. As in ‘Samuel Thomas Wilson’ as was his given beautiful birth name. As in ‘the husband everyone wonders how you ever acquired’. _That_ best friend, you sorry, pedantic bastard.” 

“Look, you two-legged arachnid, I am keeping this husband of mine _perfectly_ warm and safe-”

“Is that why I hear all that noise in the background, you wrinkly, gristly centenarian?” Natasha loudly demands. “What, you two are out and about for when you’re about to be caught up in a storm?” 

Sam winces and once again holds his hand out for the phone. Bucky once again smiles at him and once again shakes his head. Sam nods and goes back to surveying brands of Dutch hot cocoa.

“The storm is several hours away-it’s practically a whole day or so away, Romanoff”, Bucky explains as he and Sam near the end of the cereal aisle. 

“…And in the meantime, Sam is where exactly?” 

“Right here, right with me. And jus’ fine, too. Why the hell won’t you believe me?” 

“Believe it or not, I _do_ believe you. But just put my best friend on the line so I can hear his voice. Please and thank you very much”, says Natasha. 

Bucky sighs as he hands the phone to a softly smiling Sam. As Sam cradles the phone to his ear, Bucky takes over pushing (well, really, maneuvering) the cart and starts picking out packages and canisters of coffee. 

“Hey, Nat!” Sam cheerfully greets. 

“Sam, _dorogoi moy_ ”, Natasha softly returns. 

Bucky’s eyes roll up from the can of Maxwell House to give a side-eye at the phone in his husband’s hand. Sam smiles apologetically at him. 

Natasha continues, “How are you really? I’m out of the country with Fury on business-he says hi, by the way-and so I can’t make it back to be with you guys. But are the both of you alright in the meantime?” 

“Yeah, Nat, we are! Thanks so much!” 

“And you? You’re alright yourself?” She probes. “Jaime’s treating you well?” 

Sam grins. “Oh, yeah! Jaime’s always doing me right, Nat. Hell, he wanted to come to the grocery just as much as I did so we could have food and wood. Yep-Jaime’s still the real MVP right here.”

This time, at the sound of his deeply-hated nickname, Bucky completely stops the cart and when his eyes roll up, it’s with an ice cold glare for both Natasha and Sam. He mouths, _‘I’ll M. V. P. your ass in this store.’_

Sam only winks and makes a kissy face at him. 

Bucky’s growls. 

“Oh, thank goodness. I just wanted to make sure. You know, there’s only one Sam Wilson and he’s one of my best friends and there’s no way to replace him. So I just wanted to make sure that Jaime was doing his damn job.” 

“Aww, Nat! You’re so sweet to me. Yeah, Jaime’s doing his job overtime-” 

It’s Bucky’s turn to flip him off with his eyes. 

His _eyes_. 

“-and we’re both just fine.”

“Great, thanks”, Nat sighs. “Could you do me just one big favor, though?” 

“Call you when we get home?” 

“You’re a diamond in the rough, Sam. You really are. Say ‘bye’ to Jaime for me.”

“Will do!” Sam promises. 

Sam hangs up and stuffs the phone in the pocket of Bucky’s parka. It’s then his turn to wrap Bucky up in a bear hug from behind. 

Bucky doesn’t even pause in putting cans of oregano sauce in their nearly quarter-full cart. “…Can’t believe you got me back so quickly. What the in all the _fuck_ , Wilson.” 

Sam squeezes him around the waist. “How the hell you gon’ say that you can’t believe it? I mean, you’ve been married to me for _how_ long again?” 

“Still, that was some cruel, evil shit And that was _quick_ ”, Bucky says as he moves on to putting cans of authentic tomato sauce in their cart.” 

“Mmhmm”, Sam agrees. “And I’m ‘quick’ in love with you, Barnes.” 

Bucky scoffs. “Sure you are.” 

“I am!” 

Bucky finally turns around in Sam’s arms to return the hug tenfold. “Unfortunately.” 

-

They’re choosing their meats when Bucky’s phone rings once again. 

He sighs when he sees the caller ID and, once again, he’s unsurprised at the greeting. 

“I called Nat first and she said you two are at the grocery store”, Steve grumbles. “How long have you had Sam there and when the hell d’you think you can get Sam safely back home where it’s warm?” 

“…You ain’t worried about me being warm, Rogers? You know, I’m a super soldier just like you, but I need to keep a nice, toasty body temp, too.” 

Steve snorts. “Oh, please. You survived one ice age before and I was right there with you: it’s called ‘Brooklyn, ‘32’. Now kindly put Sam on the line.” 

Bucky sighs. Sam laughs. 

-

Overall, it takes them an extra thirty minutes to fill up their cart to the brim with everything they need. It’s by the grace of the other man’s constant, comforting presence that neither of them loses their minds in the loud, crowded grocery store. 

They’re the eleventh ones in the line at the check-out. 

-

The bags of groceries overflow their SUV’s trunk and most of the backseat. Sam sits in his front passenger’s seat with the rest of the bags in his lap and some at his feet as Bucky pulls them out of the crowded parking lot and onto the congested freeway. 

Bucky blinks as he pulls into the long, long line behind a truck. “…Did that lady really just let me get in front a’her? Just like that?” 

“Yeah, it would seem so”, Sam confirms for his husband. “Looks like the whole world hasn’ gone to shit and chaos just yet, Barnes.” 

“And ain’t that some news, Wilson?” Bucky asks with a wink. 

“Some news for sure!” 

Snow falls heavier and Bucky turns the windshield wipers onto their lowest setting. Traffic all but doesn’t move and it stretches in just about all directions as far as Sam and Bucky can see; their car moves just inches up every few minutes. They can hear more than a handful of honks, expletives, screeching tires, and more honks. 

But Sam and Bucky are just fine; hell, they’re even better now that they’ve gotten their purchases and are out of the jungle of the grocery store. They’re warm and alone together in their car where the rest of the world feels phased out for the time being. And they’re on the way home. 

Sam turns on Mariah Carey’s _Joy to the World_ and he slowly smiles as her five-octave fills out the SUV. 

Bucky rolls his eyes at his husband. “…Hon, I swear to god that you’d listen to Christmas music all year round if you could. ‘M sure of that by now.” 

Sam clutches a bag of frozen vegetables to his chest in mock offense. “You done reached that conclusion ‘by now’? How in the hell weren’t you already there way, way back when you were first courting me-and terribly, by the way-in my mama’s house? Huh?” 

“Hey, now”, Bucky warns. He takes a finger off the steering wheel to point at Sam. “I may have courted you ‘terribly’ way back then, but I died for you. _Died._ ” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam waves a hand. “I remember that shit _vividly_. I promise you. You went an’ stuffed one of my mom’s homemade jalapeno burgers in your mouth whole-”

_“-with extra sriracha sauce.”_

“-and no, I haven’t stopped laughing at that yet. I know you died because of that, but you’ll have to give me more time”, Sam snickers over Mariah’s vocals. 

Bucky rubs his mouth with his free hand, eyes still haunted and distant at the memory. “…Shit, Sam. I drank straight whiskey from the bottle in an Italian bar in ’42. But I...that homemade burger of Mama’s…?” 

He shakes his head as he inches their SUV up just a bit more. He whispers, “I never knew you could have hell itself burning in your mouth. Jesus Christ…” 

Sam reaches over the bags in his lap to gently rub his husband’s shoulder. “And we got you a nice, tall glass of milk as soon as you started choking and coughing. Hell, I spilled nearly half of it just by running to get to you in time.” 

“And in the process, you let me live long enough to see you in your wedding tux.” 

“That I did.” 

“…But yeah, you’re right, Wilson: I shoulda known from the start that you’re the kinda person that would listen to Christmas music year round if you could. I really should’ve.” 

“Yep! You should’ve!” 

They laugh. 

It’s when they’re finally- _finally_ -able to have their exit in sight on the freeway that Sam bolts up in his seat. 

“Hey, sweetheart? Y’see that guy way, way over there near that hardware store?” He asks, pointing out the window, beyond the road. “Is he…is he selling whole bundles of wood?” 

Bucky looks to where Sam is pointing. “Oh, hey…yeah, he is. Looks…like a good deal from here, too.” 

Sam squints at the area. “But, wait. It looks like a good deal, but it also looks like a lot of that wood isn’ fully chopped, yet. Never mind…” 

“Oh, that’s alrigh’, hon; I don’t mind chopping a little bit. It’ll be good exercise and we can use a whole lotta extra wood.” 

“We got a storm coming, though. Plus, we’ll have to make more room in the car an’ we already have little room as is.” 

“It’s fine, babe; we’ll make more room. Really. Here, lemme see if I can get over…” Bucky flips his blinker on. 

_“Buck”_ , Sam whines. “We’re just ten minutes away from home, this traffic hell permitting-”

“I know and it’s _fine_ , honey”, Bucky assures him. He turns halfway to give a wave to the car that let them in front. “Look, you make as much room as you can in here and I’ll worry about putting the wood in and chopping the wood. How’s that?”

Sam groans and lolls his head against the back of his seat. “…You just want me to have that big, roaring fire somethin’ awful, donchu?” 

Bucky smiles and winks at the other man. He finally reaches the exit to take them down yet another congested road on the way to the man selling wood. “That’s right baby!” 

From the time Bucky manages to turn into the parking lot and (miraculously) find a parking space, buying the wood goes by quickly. The man and his family are incredibly kind, generous people that thought it’d be good for them to take their lumber company’s excess wood and sell it at a reduced price to people who’d need it for the incoming snowstorm. Sam somehow manages to clear out enough space in their SUV in record time for the stacks- _stacks_ -of wood his husband purchases. 

Sam impresses himself by not falling to the ground when Bucky single-handedly lugs in two thick, gargantuan not-fully-chopped logs into their SUV’s trunk along with the rest of their purchased wood. 

“I dunno why I’m bothering to say it, but I cannot _believe_ that you’re actually going to chop _all_ of that wood. I really cannot believe, Barnes”, Sam says when they’re back in the car. 

Bucky winks at him as he starts the engine and backs out of the parking space. “Well, don’ worry; I’ll be sure to be done with chopping all of it way, way before the storm comes.” 

It’s a wonder that the SUV manages to drive at all with all the extra weight. 

-

It’s then an adventure lugging all of the groceries into the house through the front door; sorting out all the groceries that can go ahead into the fridge and pantry and the ones that need to be set out so they can prep for the huge dinner they’ll make to sustain them; then driving around to the back of the house to then set out all the wood that’s ready for the fireplace right inside the back door near the kitchen, all the wood that still needs to be chopped in the backyard, and then about a handful of the wood near the fireplace; and finally finding some time to sit the hell down, kick off their shoes for the time being, and fucking breathe. 

Oh, and remembering to call everyone that they promised to call with the news that they made it safe and sound back home. 

It’s an adventure. 

Sam turns the TV on, finding that the news is still of course giving by-the-hour updates on the approaching snowstorm. They both listen intently as the weatherwoman cautions that the storm is rushing into their area as previously expected; residents of their area have less than a day or so before the storm fully comes in and it’s advisable that they make all necessary arrangements as soon as possible and to otherwise stay inside. 

And residents should still expect power outages. 

Sam turns to his husband, eyes serious and intent. “Alright, you hear that, Barnes? You go out there and chop all the wood you want but you gotta promise me that you’ll be back in this house by tomorrow afternoon. Hell, preferably by that late-morning. Please?” 

Bucky pouts and raises an eyebrow. “And how in the hell am I supposed to do that if I have help you with the cooking an-”

“I’ll handle the cooking and everything else in the house”, Sam reassures him. “All you have to help me do is prep a little bit, and then you can get out there an’ chop all you want. Deal?” 

Bucky’s pout turns into a purse of the lips. He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling in thought and Sam can _smell_ the petulance coming in. And sure enough.

Bucky’s eyes roll back down to him and he questions, “…Well, what if ‘M not done chopping when the time limit comes?” 

“Bae? Baby? Honey? Sweetheart?” Sam starts slowly, sweetly. “Do we have a _deal_?” 

“…Promise me you’ll make me your homemade apple pie with the extra brown sugar and, yeah, we’ll have a deal”, Bucky barters. 

“Okay, y’got it”, Sam concedes. 

“Then we got a deal. Deal?”

“Deal!” 

They both want to sit down on the couch for the next ten minutes or the next ten days. But there’s shit to do and that snowstorm isn’t coming in any slower, much less canceling on them. 

It’s a whirlwind of more work as they prep cook in the kitchen. Husband and husband work together in record time. Sam sets out the meats to thaw in water and Bucky all but karate chops piles of fruits and vegetables. Bucky sets pasta to boil ( _“Yes, Sam, I added the damn salt to the water before I set it to a boil. I’m white, but not always stupid.”_ ) and Sam goes about mixing and chilling his various homemade sauces and marinades. 

A whole hour and fifteen minutes have passed by the time they’re done prepping. Bucky gives Sam a hearty peck on the lips, lets Sam help him don his winter gear, and then heads outside to the backyard to start his merry, happy wood chopping. Sam shivers when Bucky opens the kitchen’s back door; Jesus, the temperature must’ve dropped another five to ten degrees since the time they went to the grocery.

The snow is certainly falling heavier. 

Sam calls out just before the door swings shut again. “Remember, Barnes! You’re done chopping by tomorrow late-morning! Afternoon at the latest! Or no apple pie for you!” 

Bucky turns halfway and waves a placating hand at him. “I know, I know, I _know_! I’m stickin’ to the deal!” 

They get busy with their respective tasks. Sam flies around the kitchen and soon the sounds of boiling, simmering, chopping, and whirring fill the room. And amongst the sounds soon bloom the delicious, hearty scents of his homemade cooking. Meanwhile outside, Bucky is gleefully hard at work chopping and sorting the wood. Every now and then, he carefully heaves whole, freshly-chopped stacks of the wood through the house and to the fireplace’s hearth. 

-

Nighttime falls quicker than ever and they stop their work for some much-needed cuddling and sleeping (especially cuddling). As the news predicted, the temperature drops yet again and the snow and wind pick up substantially. 

And so they awaken early in the morning to resume their work. Sam makes Bucky wear his spare leg warmers and Bucky makes Sam blast the heat throughout the house even though Sam is in close proximity to the constantly-working oven and stovetop.

Sam is putting the last finishing touches on the apple pie before it goes in the oven when he glances at the clock. 

It’s late-morning. 

He bites his lip and goes to one of the kitchen windows, leaving the apple pie on the island counter for the time being. Upon lifting the blinds, Sam sees that Bucky has gotten most of the wood chopped, but he still has a ways to go. 

The temperature has dropped even further, the wind is picking up, and the snow all but swirls through the air. 

Sam is about to remind Bucky of their deal and call him back into the house…except he’s rendered still at the sight of Bucky working. Bucky powerfully, near-effortlessly cleaving their axe through log after log after log.

Sam licks his lips as images of the times his husband worked in the backyard during the spring and summer drift through his mind. Sometimes Bucky would chop wood like right now. Other times he’d mow their lawn all around their house until every blade of grass was nice and even. Then there were those times when Bucky just did simple maintenance around their house’s exterior by himself when Sam couldn’t. 

Bucky…Bucky wouldn’t be covered in layers and layers of protective winter clothing. No, he’d be in a loose plaid shirt and raggedy-ass stonewash jeans _at most_ and nothing but a sleeveless white singlet and frayed, impossibly-raggedy-ass sweatpants at least. His long, dark hair would be up in a messy ponytail or bun that would need to be re-done and re-done as Bucky worked. 

And Sam would be able to see rivulets of sweat deliciously rolling down Bucky’s exposed muscles that were just a bit thicker and heavier than his due to the serum. Hell, they were certainly much, much stronger. Heated blood rockets straight down to Sam’s groin as he laments about it not being the season for him to watch his husband’s muscles flex and contract and work, work, work. It pools painfully as he thinks about Bucky having to re-do and re-do his hair. 

Fuck, Sam could park his ass on their porch swing with a nice, tall glass of lemonade and watch Bucky mow the lawn all morning and afternoon. 

He’s done it before. 

Sam licks his lips again and finds that it’s harder to take in full, deep breaths. 

Jesus _Christ_ , he wants…he wants…

They both need to hurry the fuck up so they can stay in the house for good and be together. 

Sam goes to the back door, opens it, and calls out, “Hey! Hey, you! Hey, husband!” 

Bucky looks up from cleaving his latest log and smiles at Sam. “Hey, sweetheart! Yeah, I know it’s time to come inside!” 

“Yeah, so c’mon!” Sam says. “I got your apple pie jus’ about ready to go into the oven! I remembered the extra brown sugar, too!” 

“Aww, you did? Thanks, hon!” It’s Bucky’s turn to bite his lip. He looks around his mostly-done pile of chopped wood. “‘M _almost_ done, though! I know I’m going over time, but just gimme a few more minutes, ‘kay? Just a few more.” 

Sam groans. “Buck, baby! How much more wood do we need?!” 

“…Honey. We got a snow. Storm. Coming. In. We need a lot”, Bucky says slowly. 

“Yeah, and we already _have_ a lot is what ‘M saying”, Sam says. “We have more than enough; we ain’t without. I promise. Trust me.” 

“I know we’re not, but I just wanna be careful-”

“And I want you warm and safe inside this house”, Sam insists. 

“I will be. I promise and you gotta trust me. Just…rather have too much than not enough, alrigh’?”

Sam sighs, hesitating. If possible, it’s somehow even colder than it was yesterday; they both feel the frigid air bite sharp and crisp against their exposed faces. The wind blows even harder and the snowfall is heavier. 

They have less than two to three hours at best before the snowstorm really, truly sets in. 

Sam tries again. “Babe…” 

“Just half an hour more!” Bucky contends. “Then I _swear_ I’ll be back in for good; I’ll eat all your apple pie and not leave you a single crumb!” 

Sam laughs and then sighs again. “Alright. Thirty minutes more-but I _am_ watching the clock, Barnes!” 

“Wouldn’t know you if you didn’, Wilson!” Bucky shoots back. 

Sam closes the back door and they go back to their respective work. Thirty minutes pass and Sam opens the door again. 

Bucky looks up his chopping, face flushed and eyes looking apologetically at the other man. “Look, hon-”

“Thirty minutes are up.” 

“I’m _almost_ done!” 

“Yeah, y’know what? You said that _thirty minutes ago!_ ” 

“Sam-”

“For god’s sake, Buck! You already got so much wood chopped that it’s damn near takin’ up all the space in front of the fireplace! If it weren’t for the blanket we laid down, you’d end up havin’ to put all that dirty, stanky ass wood from outside on my _clean_ carpet!” 

“Okay, but I really am _almost_ done this time! I swear!” 

“Bucky, please-”

“Gimme just a little longer!” 

“It’s already a good bit past afternoon, Buck-!”

“ _Please?!_ ” 

Sam gives the longest suffering sigh he’s ever given in his life. “…Just. Hurry. Up.” He closes the door and goes back to finishing up his cooking before he (hopelessly) nags his husband anymore. 

Bucky shakes his head and mutters himself about pestering, nagging husbands that just don’t understand that you can never have too much chopped wood. 

Another thirty minutes passes…

…And Sam is done. 

Sam throws the back door wide open, ignoring the motherfucking _blizzard_ that roars right into his house. Even through the storm, he can see that Bucky is on his very, very last log, but god _damn_ if Sam weren’t already on his very, very last nerve. 

“ _James Buchanan Barnes_ ”, he hollers over the din. “You bring your ass on inside this warm, safe house _this instance!_ ” 

Bucky stops mid-chop and points his axe at the very, very last log. He hollers right back, “...Samuel Thomas Wilson, y’see this last bit of wood I gotta chop?” 

“Did you hear what I said?” Sam growls. 

“Do you _see_ this wood?” Bucky growls back. 

“Did I say what I said?” 

“Do you _see this wood?!_ ” 

“Did I _say_ what I _said?!_ ”

“ _Oh_ , you said what you said and guess what?! Your husband’s delectable ass is still outside this house!” Bucky bellows.

“If I have to come out there and bring my ‘husband’s delectable ass’ on in the house myself, I can _promise_ you that neither one of us are gonna be happy!” Sam threatens. “ _Neither one of us_ , Barnes!” 

“Well, Wilson, we been too-happily married for seemingly forever, so maybe it’s ‘bout time we got a little _un_ happiness for a change!” 

“…Bucky! In! I am serious!” 

_“No!”_

“Bucky!” 

“Sam!” 

“Dammit, just bring that whole log in here with you! It ain’t that big to begin with!” 

“But it’s-”

“You got _plenty_ of differently-sized logs for a good fire. _Plus_ you’re bringing all this snow and literally freezing ass air _right into my kitchen!_ ”

Bucky grumbles and growls like a grizzly bear, but he does as his husband says. He drops his axe in his tool box, picks up the huge, uncut log with next to no effort and marches to the house. Sam silently holds the door open and steps aside to let Bucky through to put the uncut log with all the other wood. Bucky at least saves himself from certain immolation from Sam’s hand by remembering to toe off his boots and keep them right inside the back door. As a result, he can safely pad through the house without making an unholy mess of every single walking surface. 

And Bucky doesn’t even have a moment to grumble and growl to himself some more because in the next instant, Sam is yanking him down the hall and into the bathroom to shower with him. Bucky grumbles and just helps Sam get him undressed. 

“Lookit chu, just _lookit chu_ ”, Sam growls. “Comin’ in my house all nasty and stanky and sweaty and past the freakin’ time limit! Trailin’ snow everywhere!” 

Bucky splutters indignantly. “I took off my boots, Wilson-”

“I’m talkin’ about the snow still falling off the rest of your damn clothes, Barnes!” Sam gripes as he gently helps Bucky out of his second layer of sweaters

“Well y’know what?” Bucky asks as he carefully holds onto Sam’s shoulders while they work on removing his leg warmers. “At least I came in only a little bit over your time limit!” 

“Yeah, but that don’ really matter when we got a _snowstorm_ practically already here!” Sam shoots back. Christ, he’s so irritated that not even undressing Bucky reignites his desire. 

Hell, Bucky is in the same boat. 

“…There just ain’t no damn way to make you happy, is there? No damn way at all”, Bucky laments as, finally naked, turns the bathtub’s faucet all the way to its hottest setting. 

Sam tosses the mountainous pile of his husband’s dirty clothes into the hamper. “Usually? Yes? With you? Hell no.” 

“Mutual, Wilson. Mutual. Now shuddup and c’mere”, Bucky replies, reaching out to gently take off Sam’s sweater. 

Sam shakes his head with exasperation, but obligingly lifts his arms so Bucky can undress him for their shower. They’re soon ready to step into the shower and let the hot, refreshing spray hit them and the humid air lift and lift throughout the bathroom. 

“Ahh. Well at least this feels so damn good”, Bucky sighs as he lathers up a bath pouf to wash his husband. 

“Uh huh”, Sam agrees as he squeezes Bucky’s shampoo onto his palm to scrub the shit out of Bucky’s hair. “And it’d feel even better if you were back in the house on time.” 

“Y’know, Wilson”, Bucky muses while he starts on Sam’s chest. “You could probably get us hefty tax returns on all the overtime you put into naggin’ me. Probably be worth $2,500 per tax year.” 

Sam scrubs at Bucky’s hair, making sure that none of the lather slides down into his eyes. “It’d better be worth that much, what with all the reasons you give me to nag. Tilt your head a lil, babe.” 

Bucky obliges and the rest of their shower goes by without any further problems or bickering. Even over the shower spray, they can the whipping and tearing roar of the wind outside. Surely if they were to go back outside by now, they’d have to sludge and trudge through the increased snow. And it’s probably so cold that not even Bucky would feel comfortable even wearing his thickest parka. 

They get dressed in fresh, clean pajamas in record time. Sam wears his favorite baby blue fleece pajamas with the snowmen on them; Bucky wears his favorite red-and-black fleece pajamas with the reindeers on them. 

And then they’re headed back down to the kitchen which is heavenly with the lingering scents of Sam’s cooking. 

“Uhh…sweetie, I got a confession…” Sam starts. 

Bucky just gives Sam a smile that’s equal parts resigned and equal parts happy. “Between the two of us, we both eat so much food that you’re not _quite_ done cookin’ yet.” 

Sam gives him the same smile back. “Nope.” 

“But you’re still more than halfway through.” 

“Yep.” 

“And I’m allowed to help you out.” 

“Right-o again, Buck.” 

“So where am I starting?”

Sam’s smile grows wider. “Hmm…check the things chilling in the fridge for me? And if anything needs stirring or put in the oven, knock yourself out. We’ll go from there.” 

Bucky’s smile, too, grows wider. He slips an oven mitt over his flesh hand. “Got it! You can count on me, babe!” 

“Never thought I couldn’t!” 

While Bucky goes to the refrigerator, Sam turns on their miniature kitchen TV in the far corner of a counter. Sam then turns the oven back to its high temperature and checks on the dishes inside. Husband and husband listen in to the weatherman’s updates as they work together around the kitchen. 

They can expect to be snowed by early morning and even before then it’s highly advisable to stay indoors. 

And they should still expect power outages. 

-

When Sam and Bucky awake the next morning they find that they are indeed snowed in. This time, the combined furious roar of the wind and the wild whipping of the snow make their house’s doors and windows rattle with the force. As they reluctantly slip out of each other’s arms and out of bed, they can just _feel_ that it’s freezing as fuck outside, probably barely a couple degrees over. 

Their electricity falters and dims every half hour. 

The snowstorm is on their doorstep. 

They work double time so they can safely and comfortably hole up in their living room with the fireplace and as far away as possible from the windows and doors. 

It’s yet another adventure as they drag their inflatable mattress out of the closet; put it up against their living room couch and fill it with air; and then pile pillows atop its head. Next, they lay out three blankets in the living room: one atop their mattress for themselves, their laptop, and the food to lay on, like a picnic blanket; the second one for cuddling, snuggling, and sleeping in; and the third one for backup just in case. Next is a race back and forth from the kitchen to the living room to get all of the food, drinks, and utensils near the mattress. 

Bucky then takes great delight in starting up the fire while Sam pops up a champagne bottle far, far away in the opposite direction of the burgeoning flames ( _“Hey how often do you get to drink with your spouse durin’ a snowstorm?”_ ). 

Just when they’re about to settle down together on the blanket against the couch, the electricity falters and dims just one more time…and then the power completely goes out. 

Bucky cradles Sam just a little closer. “Y’alright, Sam?” 

Sam lets himself melt into Bucky’s side and smiles at him. “Course I am; I’m right here with you, ain’t I? And _you_ are just right here with _me_.” 

Bucky smiles back. “Yeah…yeah, you are. We are.” 

Though the rest of their house is shrouded in cold darkness, the hearty, roaring fireplace perfectly warms and illuminates the living room. It gives them just as much a deeply welcome contrast to the snowstorm outside as it gives a beautiful, calming sight. Sam and Bucky sag against each other even more. 

“ _Ahh…_ ”, they sigh at the same time. 

“Ready to eat, now?” Sam asks. 

“…Y’know I’m going for that apple pie first, right?” Bucky returns. 

Sam can’t help the lazy smile he gives the other man. “There you go puttin’ dessert before breakfast-uhh, dinner.” 

“Well, I never said you couldn’ follow me!” Bucky insists as he reaches for Sam’s prized apple pie. “Besides, you did most of the cooking-doncha think you should have dessert first, too?” 

“Tell you what, Buck”, Sam says as he reaches for a platter of baked chicken spiced with garlic and rosemary and a huge bowl of green beans. “This’ll be my dessert for the time being. Been waitin’ to dive into this forever.” 

Bucky salutes his husband with his apple-pie-speared-fork. “You go, man. You go. Just be sure to save me some, because y’know I barely ever leave leftovers as it is.” 

They snuggle closer together as Bucky lobs scoop after scoop of vanilla ice cream atop his pie slice and Sam piles his plate high with even more food. Bucky then plays the movie _Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer_ on the laptop and cranks the volume high while they eat. 

-

Two hours later, they’re stuffed to the brim, snuggled even closer under the blanket, and extremely close to sleep. Sam has his head snuggled on his husband’s chest, right where he can hear the strong, steady thump of his heartbeat. His arm is slung across Bucky’s abs and his hand is tucked against his side and one of his legs is intertwined with Bucky’s. Bucky in turn has as a warm, snug grip around Sam with one arm; his other hand rests atop Sam’s forearm on his abs. His head is snuggled atop Sam’s and he inhales deeply of the pomade oil in Sam’s hair. 

The snowstorm is still going, the power is still out, and their fireplace keeps them nice and toasty. 

“…‘Kay”, Bucky slurs. “And I thought we weren’t moving any damn where before…” 

Sam chuckles against his chest. “Yep. ‘Cept this time, we can’t even move any damn where to begin with-we’re snowed in and there’s a raging storm outside right now.” 

“Y’know, I have no idea how the hell we even got up to put all the leftovers away. Shit, I want some eggnog straight outta the carton again”, Bucky says. “But I know I’m not moving anywhere.” 

Sam yawns and moves to disengage from Bucky. “Y’want me to get you some-”

“No. No, no”, Bucky insists. He emphasizes by squeezing Sam even closer. “Contrary to popular belief, I enjoy you more than I enjoy eggnog.” 

Sam lets loose a dramatic gasp. “Say it ain’t so!” 

“It is! Dunno if it’ll be the same way next year, but it is!” 

“Well, if it’s not the same next year, like I said: we can divorce whenever you’re ready.” 

“Noted, Wilson. Noted.” 

They share a laugh and then it’s quiet and still and warm in-between them. Bucky closes his eyes, imagining that they just may nod off to sleep soon. 

But Sam slides his thigh up Bucky’s legs…up, up, up until… 

Bucky’s eyes slide open. His voice is low and gravelly. “Oh, he went there, huh? 

“Mmmm- _hmm_ ”, Sam drawls. He feels Bucky already hardening and swelling against his thigh in real time and his own erection begins its blooming. “Yes sir, if you please…” 

Well goddamn. Bucky is fucking wide, wide awake right now. 

Shit, not even the fireplace’s warmth can put him back to sleep. 

He chuckles breathlessly at the feeling of his husband’s growing erection in close proximity to his. It’s that knowledge alone that ignites white-hot fire coursing through every last drop of Bucky’s blood. He swallows and his eyes flutter as a good bit of that blood rockets down to his already-throbbing erection. His heartbeat follows his blood to his cock and in the next instance he’s fountaining pre-cum within his boxers, staining all the way through his pajamas. 

Doesn’t matter the time period, doesn’t matter the season, doesn’t matter _what_ -Sam Wilson is the only one that gets him this hot, this fast. 

A low groan sounds in Sam’s throat as he feels the telltale signs of his husband’s arousal just below his leg. The serum’s always made Bucky’s desire go from zero to sixty before Sam could blink and Sam’s never minded _one bit._ Shit, Bucky is throbbing and growing so much that Sam nearly has to hook his ankle around Bucky’s calf just so his thigh doesn’t get dislodged. Sam licks his lips at the thought of having Bucky press against him, Bucky stretching him open, open, _open_ until Sam might think he was past his capacity but for the pleasure. 

And Bucky wants inside Sam just as badly. White stars begin popping behind his eyes at the anticipation of Sam’s blazing, velvety sheath so grasping and clenching and so goddamn wet and _slick_ until Bucky just might slide right out of Sam if it weren’t for how tight Sam always is. 

Still, Bucky feels like playing a little. Just a little. 

He can’t stop the little bit of laughter that escapes him as he rolls them over so that he’s on top of Sam, both of them still under the covers. Sam shares his laughter and then he’s eagerly wriggling around so that he can get his legs on either side of Bucky and then he encircles his arms snugly around Bucky’s neck. Bucky in turn snuggles down until he’s flush against Sam. He grinds his groin down into Sam’s and they both moan at the bittersweet friction through their pajama pants. 

Sam’s heart jumps into his throat at finally getting to have his husband’s erection against his own. Bucky’s soaked pajama pants dampen Sam’s and Sam eagerly arches his hips up for more of the contact.  
Bucky’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t stop his hips jerking down to meet Sam’s. A trembling starts deep, deep in his muscles. He closes his eyes and leans his face down to nuzzle his nose against Sam’s. Sam nuzzles back and then grinds his hips against his again. 

“Buck...I want you. _Please._ ” 

Bucky chuckles breathlessly, a coy smile coming to his lips. “But baby, it’s snowstormin’ outside.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Aww, don’t be giving me none a’that. Look where you are right now; look what you’re doin’ right now.” He arches into Bucky’s hand when it slips under his pajama shirt and gently caresses his abs. “I mean, don’t be actin’ like you didn’t sneak a lube bottle in-between the pillows.” 

Bucky turns his face until it’s in the side of Sam’s neck and snickers guiltily. “What, you saw me?” 

“No-I know you.” Sam’s hand slips into his hair, scratching at his scalp. 

“Well then, fuck it.” 

“…Literally, right?” 

“Yep. So how ‘bout…” Bucky returns his face to Sam’s and makes to kiss him on the lips and press even harder down on him-

“Nope!” 

Sam suddenly hooks a leg around one of Bucky’s hips, gets a good grip on Bucky’s shoulders, and flips them over so that he’s on top. The blankets fall away. Bucky giggles in surprise and warmly places his hands on Sam’s hips. Sam giggles back, settles down until their groins are still pressed against each other, and plants both of his hands on Bucky’s chest. 

“‘Nope’?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, as in…I know I usually like you on top, but I’m kinda in a riding mood righ’ now”, Sam clarifies. “D’you mind?” 

Bucky chews on his lip. If any more blood goes to his cock, he’s sure his brain won’t make it past tonight. “Nope. Not at all.” 

“Great!” 

“Yeah. Awesome.” 

They laugh together yet again.

And then Bucky stops and goes still. He looks up at his husband…his husband that’s safe and warm astride him and so goddamn _beautiful_. The whole of Sam’s dark brown skin and eyes are gorgeously illuminated with the fireplace’s hearty flames. Every last inch of red and gold flickers highlights Sam’s warm, robust color. Fuck, it highlights that beloved burgundy blush of arousal just beneath his skin. And Bucky looks deep, deep into Sam’s eyes and sees the fireplace’s red and gold flames igniting a thousand sunrises and sunsets in Sam’s dark brown irises. 

Bucky could live for an eternity and he’ll never know what in the _fuck_ he ever did to deserve this man. 

Sam looks at Bucky silently staring at him with eyes that are far, far away and worry dampens his desire. He peers down at his husband in concern. “Hey, Buck, honey? Talk to me. What’s the matter?” 

A slow, slow smile comes to Bucky’s lips. He gently trails his left hand-his metal hand-from Sam’s hip all the way up to Sam’s neck and softly caresses the warm, satiny skin there. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing in the whole _world_.” 

Bucky rubs slow, smooth circles over Sam’s smooth neck and jaw. Sam relaxes and leans into the touch.

There’s that goddamn Brooklyn coming out. 

“It’s just that you’re so beautiful. Y’know that, sweetheart? Hmm? Y’know how beautiful you are? You know you should know that, right?” Bucky pleads in that Brooklyn. “Will you tell me that you know that?” 

Sam’s eyes were already glistening with the light of the fireplace…but now they outright shine with equal bashfulness and pleasure. He catches Bucky’s metal hand in his and turns his head to lay warm, lazy kisses on the fingers. One by one. 

Bucky’s heart flutters like a hummingbird with each sweet, sweet kiss to his metal fingers. 

When Sam is done with Bucky’s littlest finger, he cradles his hand close against his face.

He smiles, soft and coy, at Bucky. “Well…I wish I _could_ tell you that I know that, Bucky. I really do. But what if I forgot? Y’gonna help me remember?” 

Sam presses his hips down onto Bucky’s for emphasis. The pressure makes electricity arch straight up both of their spines. “Would you like to help me remember…?”

“ _Yes_. Yeah, baby”, Bucky breathes. “Yes, I will; yes I want to. I’ll help you remember. 

Bucky tightens the hand that’s still on Sam’s hip. “Better yet, Jesus fucking _Christ_ , I’ll make sure you never forget it again. I’ll make damn good sure.” 

Sam smiles the whole world down on Bucky and then they stop wasting time. 

It’s a playful fumble and tumble for them as they undress each other, make out, Bucky stretches Sam, make out again, and they lube each other, and then make out yet again. The blanket is frantically kicked to the end of the mattress; the pillows and pajamas are scattered who the fuck cares where. They’re both naked with Sam back on top of and straddling Bucky, who has his hands on Sam’s hips, fingers digging into the supple flesh there. 

Their groins and stomachs are a congealing mess made of sweat, Bucky’s pre-cum, lube, and more of Bucky’s pre-cum. And Bucky only leaks twice as much when Sam takes his engorged, purpled head in his hand to guide him to his tight, heated entrance. _Fuck_ , they’re so slick that it’s a wonder Sam can even get something of a grasp around his husband’s pulsating, leaking erection. 

They swear their moans are louder than the wind outside at the first touch of Bucky’s head to Sam’s opening. 

Bucky’s head lolls back against a pillow. That Brooklyn is still as strong as ever. “Fuck, sweetie- _fuck_ you feel so good. ‘S gonna be so fucking _good_ …” 

“Yeah… _yeah_ , Bucky”, Sam moans. He rocks just a little, lodging Bucky close to his first ring of muscle. “You always are- _we_ always are.” 

A collective shiver runs over both of their bodies when Sam engulfs Bucky’s head just within his entrance. Sam is about to rock forward to take more of Bucky inside of him when Bucky stops him with a hold on his hips. 

“W-wait, babe”, Bucky slurs, struggling to focus through his desire.” 

Sam blinks in confusion. “Huh? W-what’s wrong?” 

“ _You’re_ what’s…wrong.” Bucky swallows down air. “You feel a lil…tight, hun. Too tight. Are you hurting? Did we prep ‘nough?” 

The extra, unusual tightness gripping his leaking head is agonizing heaven for Bucky. But he’s incapable of continuing if his husband is in even an ounce of pain or discomfort. They really did kind of rush through their foreplay-

“N-no, ‘M alright”, Sam reassures him with a genuine smile. “It’s just a little bit of a burn, but ‘S feels good, hon. Plus, we’re a fuckin’… _ocean_ down here wit’ this delightful super fountain you call a dick. Promise. I’ll…let you know if…I can’t.” 

Bucky grins. “Promise?” 

“Promise. Always.” 

“Great.” 

“‘Kay. Now shudda’hell up and get all the way inside me or I’ll make you…mow the lawn all summer.” 

“…Y’do that anyway. ‘Cause you like the show. I see you…watchin’. With lemonade. Lazy ass.” 

Sam continues his rocking motion down, down, down Bucky’s head until it can push past his first ring of muscle and lodge more fully inside him. Sam keeps rocking down, down, down and this time it’s agonizing heaven for both of them because they have to keep going slow and gentle with that burn. 

_Push, push, push…_

_Stretch, stretch, stretch…_

Every last one of Bucky’s muscles seizes with the effort to be still and let Sam stay in control of how much of him he takes inside. Sam’s hot, slick, velvet sheath really is tighter than usual, the tense muscles grasping and pulling him firmly inside. Goddamn, if he doesn’t climax right here and now. 

Their bodies are coated in a heavier sheen of sweat by the time most of Bucky has disappeared inside Sam. Just one last push, one last stretch and Bucky is fully seated inside Sam. 

They moan at the same time. “ _Ahh…_ ” 

Sam doesn’t even wait- _can’t_ wait-and stay still while his body adjusts to his husband’s girth. He immediately thrusts his hips forward on Bucky’s shaft, palms planted flat on Bucky’s abs and nails digging into the taut, ribbed muscle. Fuck, he’s stretched wide, wide open to full capacity with Bucky and there’s still that twinging burn in his muscles with Bucky inside him. He bites his lip as that burn spreads deliciously with every thrust. 

Bucky follows Sam’s lead-he’s already halfway out of his mind from the pleasure and the show atop him anyway. He meets every forward thrust of Sam’s hips with upward thrusts of his own. Sweat coats his flesh-and-blood hand, loosening his grip on Sam’s ass; he impatiently wipes his hand on the mattress and then clasps Sam’s perfect, undulating ass firmer. 

Sam briefly chews his lip between his teeth at the renewed grip on his ass. He swings his hips more freely, loving and wanting every single inch his husband has to offer. 

“Yeah, Bucky… _yeah_ ”, Sam moans. 

Sam is even more beautiful atop him. He’s coated in just as much sweat as he is and the fireplace’s flickering flames capture each rolling rivulet down his body like a beautiful, unique raindrop. His erect, leaking cock bounces against his stomach with every movement. Sam’s nails dig even deeper into Bucky’s abs and he moans at the little, innocuous pinpricks of pain. 

Those nails must bring something of Bucky’s mind back…because he thinks to keep his grip on Sam steady, re-angle his hips and rams the head of his cock right into Sam’s prostate. 

“ _Buck!_ Oh my- _fuck!_ ” Sam cries. 

Bucky can only grin back as he hits Sam’s prostate again and again. They thrust even harder now, all but pounding against each other and there’s a roaring in their heads that’s louder than the storm’s winds. It’s freezing cold outside, but Sam and Bucky’s lovemaking makes it an inferno inside.

The mattress rocks and creaks beneath them with their harder lovemaking. Bucky doesn’t give a shit that the pillow beneath his head is getting dislodged and Sam doesn’t give a shit that his knees on either side of his husband have to dig deeper and deeper into the mattress to keep his purchase on top. 

Sam jerks and shudders and nearly loses his rhythm when one of Bucky’s hands wraps around his bouncing erection. He alternates between caressing and pumping up and down Sam’s pulsating shaft and encircling Sam’s purpled, throbbing head. 

“Bucky…Buck…d-don’…stop…” Sam gasps brokenly. 

“Wouldn’ dream…of…it”, Bucky assures him. “Gothcu, babe…I gotchu…” 

They thrust harder, faster, the mattress groaning in protest beneath them. They’re closer than ever now; there’s that deep, thunderous rumbling in the bottom of their stomachs, in their balls. Sam’s nails dig deeper into Bucky’s abs with each up and down pump of his shaft and with each burning thrust right into his prostate. 

“Bucky…Buck… _shit_ , Bucky… _Bucky_ ” 

“Gotchu…almost there…baby…almost…”

“Buck- _fuck!_ ”

The world turns into a blinding white flash of light behind Sam’s eyes as he climaxes. His breath shorts and he comes to a full, muscle-seizing halt atop Bucky as his orgasm cascades over him like a powerful tidal wave. His ass clamps down on Bucky’s cock, gipping him like a slick, heated vise. His husband keeps that pumping strong and steady as he coats his already-messy stomach in white. He can’t do anything but _feel_ and feel _damn good_. 

The sight of Sam in climax atop Bucky is all it takes for him to lose his damn mind all over again. His hips surge up just one more time into Sam’s searing, clenching heat and he follows his husband over the precipice not seconds later. As usual, he fills Sam up far past capacity and so milky white drains out of Sam and onto where they’re joined, further adding to the congealing mess between them. 

Sam pants raggedly as he gets his breath back. He smiles down, all sweaty and tired, at Bucky who is just as sweaty and tired. He softly caresses Bucky’s abs and then trails his fingers up to his pecs and to his face where he gently cups his jaw. Bucky smiles back up at him; he runs his hands from Sam’s ass up his back. 

They work as softly and carefully as possible together so Bucky can painlessly pull out of Sam. As soon as they disconnect, even more of Bucky’s ejaculate trails out of Sam and makes a mess of its own. But Sam still doesn’t mind at all how full and messy he gets, even if Bucky’s sure he’ll never stop being so self-conscious about it.

Bucky tugs a little on Sam. “H-hey, come down here. Lay down a lil bit.” 

Sam snickers. “Y’want me to ‘come down’? I’m…kinda a little too high, Buck, y’know? Just sayin’.” 

“Oh, bring your ass down here an’ rest, Wilson”, Bucky snickers back. 

Sam obliges, shifting down Bucky’s hips and then doubling over so he’s comfortably sprawled atop him. Bucky immediately wraps him up, tight and warm, in his arms and cradles him close. Sam sighs in bliss, his head right over his husband’s heartbeat, listening to it pump with strength and power. They cuddle close and just feel the other breathe while post-coital ecstasy wafts through their bodies. 

The fireplace is still roaring and the snowstorm is still going…but it’s quiet and peaceful between them. Neither one of them plan on moving for a long, long time. 

“Hey. Hey, you. Hey, husband”, Sam whispers. 

Bucky presses a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “Hmm?” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

-

They make love just three more times that night, losing track of time, losing track of energy. 

Losing track of everything and anything but each other. 

-

They wake up, groggy and sore in a mess of tangled limbs and dried sweat and cum and pillows. One of them had the sense to pull the blanket just over their hips for modesty and continued warmth. They somehow didn’t make love so hard that the mattress deflated beneath them. And the fire in their fireplace has died out. There are just leftover cooling, winking embers in the wake of the once-roaring flames.

Their eyes look to one of their curtained windows at the same time; through the little shaft of light peeking through, they can see just the faintest hint of bright, greyish-blue light. Their ears then listen in and there is no more howling wind rattling their windows and doors, no more whipping snow. Bucky’s super hearing can pick up crackling electricity soaring through their home anew. 

The snowstorm has blown itself out. It’s over. 

There are about a million-and-one things they should be doing. Both of their phones have probably been blown up to hell and back with phone calls, text messages, emails, and voicemails that they should return. They should turn on the news for the latest reports. Clean up majorly. Get in the shower. Wash their hair. Brush their teeth. Eat some breakfast. 

Instead, they both just sigh, snuggle closer, close their eyes, and fall back asleep again. Neither one of them wants to get up just yet. 

There’s a lot of shit to do. 

But not yet. 

Not just yet.


End file.
